


Blood of My Brother

by heroless



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Brotherhood, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroless/pseuds/heroless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki Laufeyson appears unexpectedly in the Avengers Tower, Earth's Mightiest Heroes must embark on an unprecedented journey to save their enemy in order to save their planet. Along the way, adversaries and allies are made and destroyed, friendships and rivalries are reversed, Earth is visited by a host of Norse gods, Asgard is visited by a host of Midgardians, and the merely mortal members of the Avengers learn what it means for them when they learn that even gods can bleed. </p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>This story takes place long after the events of "The Avengers" and "Thor: The Dark World," when Loki is back to his usual mischief and plans for world domination. However, this fic doesn't strictly follow the events of the movies, and includes some canon storylines from the comics as well as original storyline.  This is my first fanfic, so criticism is highly encouraged! Thanks for reading. c:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistaken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Incubigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incubigirl/gifts).



When Loki Laufeyson teleported into the Avengers Tower’s common room, the initial shock and frantic responses were to be expected, seeing that Earth’s Mightiest Heroes just received an unexpected house call from Earth’s Mightiest Menace. Each team member sprang into action, training and experience guiding their practiced movements. Thor gripped Mjölnir, Captain America brandished his iconic shield, and Iron Man commanded his A.I. to ready his armor. Simultaneously, the two mercenaries of the team responded in turn, Hawkeye notched an arrow on his already-drawn bow, as Black Widow reached for the two guns she kept at her sides. Finally, Doctor Bruce Banner’s human skin began rippling a bizarre, alien green as he eyed the unwelcome intruder.

But all team members had been blinded in their haste, so when their minds were released from the dictations of instinct, what they saw seemed even more present and foreboding, more real and significant and terrifying. Smears of blood painted Loki’s light armor as dark stains became larger as he stood. Blood seeped lazily from the more minor cuts, if one could even consider them minor, while rapid flows poured from the deepest gashes in Loki’s right shoulder, lower abdomen, and just below his heart. The god was cradling the most severe wounds with bloodied and burned hands as he spotted his non-brother, Thor, and started toward him. 

“Thor,” the dying man rasped, barely audible between his stifled breaths, “I am... so... sorry.” He coughed violently, hacking up blood and bile. He collapsed, his helmeted head colliding with the ground with a large, metallic smack as the rest of his body convulsed and twisted in ways a body should not convulse and twist. As soon as Loki fell, Thor dropped Mjölnir and rushed to his side and removed the helmet carefully, revealing angry, red burns that covered one side of his brother’s face and part of his neck. The burned skin still stank, implying they were no older than an hour.

Catching sight of his brother’s incinerated features and having finally processed the gory sight, Thor carefully hoisted Loki into his powerful arms, cursing as he did so. “By the Nine, brother,” he wondered aloud, “What has happened to you? Who is cruel enough to commit such grievous harm?” But his brother did not respond, finally succumbing to the sweet comfort of unconsciousness. “Help him!” the Golden God begged of his teammates. “Can you not see what is in plain view? My brother needs assistance, he needs our help!"

And Loki did need help. He needed blood and unbroken bones and a face not consumed by burns. The crazed and fevered desperation evident in the God of Mischief’s bright green eyes before they had closed, paired with his dangerously poor state of health, and the fact that the young god had purposefully fled to his enemy’s domain, spoke of the seriousness and insanity in his bloody and sudden arrival. To think that, of all places he could have sought refuge in, he had chosen the heart of the Avenger’s headquarters. 

“Friends!” Thor bellowed as rage and frustration filled him. “Brothers! Lend me your assistance. Stark, prepare a sick room for my brother. Captain, summon your realm’s finest healers! Hawkeye, Widow, please help me get Loki into a bed and remove this blood-stained armor so that we may better understand what has happened to him.” 

But at first, the orders were heard by no-one, let alone acknowledged and obeyed. Loki Laufeyson had terrorized Earth on innumerable occasions, a handful of those invasions, almost successful in taking over the world, or at least destroying enough of it to cause worldwide famine and casualties in the millions. Seeing the trepidation in his comrades’ eyes, Thor continued. “Enemy or not, Loki is still my brother, and as the protectors of this realm, we are charged with saving lives, not letting them be snuffed out by our own pride and fear.

“...he’s right,” Captain America finally said, although hesitation peppered his intonations. “Everyone, do as he says. Banner, please come with me. I need you to turn in that favor a friend owes you.” And so, the Avengers did as they were told. Black Widow and Hawkeye helped Loki to the room that Tony had already prepared with the aid of his household A.I., JARVIS, and began to remove the god’s armor. Bruce Banner followed Cap into a more secluded hallway, unsure of what Steve was asking of him.

“You mentioned once that a certain doctor is in your debt, Banner. Is this correct?” Steve Rodgers asked his friend. It took Bruce just a few moments before he understood, replied with a quick “Yes,” and left for his personal quarters to make the call.

\-----

“Dr. Banner,” a collected and sonorous voice answered on the first ring. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Bruce hesitated, then, “I’m calling in the favor you promised me,” he said sheepishly. “I need your help.”

“Yes,” replied the voice, “I thought as much. Where do you need me?”

“The Avengers Tower. We have a...” he paused, unsure how to put the situation into words, “...an injured god occupying one of our rooms. He can’t be helped by human medicine.”

“I see...” came the reply, “I shall be there within the second.”

“Thank you,” Bruce Banner said hurriedly, and disconnected the line. 

When he turned around to go back to the common room, a tall man with gray eyes and black hair that showed the faintest wisps of dignified gray stood before him, a dramatic crimson cape flowing in an invisible breeze over a loose, grey-blue tunic and trousers of the same fabric. A golden cloth belt was tied loosely around his waist, and the man wore long gloves in a matching color. 

“Doctor Strange,” doctor Banner welcome the Sorcerer Supreme cordially, 'thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, doctor Banner,” Stephen Strange replied with a wry and knowing smile. “It is not every day that I am asked to aid a Norse God, even rarer, one that has plagued our world often.”

“How did you...?” Bruce began, but shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. “Of course you know, you’re Stephen Strange.”

“That, I am.” Strange replied with a chuckle. “Now, where is our resident God of Mischief, Loki Laufeyson? I’ve been wanting to meet him for quite some time, now. His magic is unparalleled, as is his ability to harness it to its greatest, fullest, and most destructive potential.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bruce warned warily, “this wouldn’t be the first time Loki faked an injury to mislead us.”

\-----

Back in the sick room, Thor had laid Loki on a bed and proceeded to remove his brother’s armor. Tony had left to speak with Steve and try to gather his mind and process the situation, leaving the three to deal with Loki. Hawkeye was obviously displeased with the idea of stripping a villain, especially a male villain, but Black Widow went about the task with professional and deft movements. But even she could not control her natural poker face when she saw the gruesome wounds Loki bore. Her eyes grew wide at times, and at others, they closed involuntarily when the sight became unbearable. The injuries were worse than they had predicted. It was nothing short of a miracle that Loki had not bled out already, or hadn’t suffered major organ damage.

When the trio had finally been able to remove Loki’s breastplate and tear the thin tunic away from his flesh, all were frozen back in surprise and horror. Hawkeye threw up, barely reaching a wastebasket in time, and hurried from the room. The deep gash that had been made just under Loki’s heart was festering and oozed a foul-smelling black pus. Through the filth, two ribs were visible, and the very bottom tip of a lung protruded outward, red and collapsed and bleeding. Most bizarrely, the surrounding flesh was a pale, icy-blue, freezing to the touch. The anomaly spread from the wound, crawling across Loki’s chest like a spreading virus seeking warmth so that it may incubate and infect more quickly. 

“What the hell...” Natasha began, but was cut off when she registered that there was something _carved_ into the blue flesh. The characters were foreign to even her, a master of languages, but the Russian spy had a feeling that the word could not be a good sign. “Thor...”

Thor had already seen the dark blue runes carved into his brother’s flesh and recognized them immediately. That was why he had looked away and grimaced, tears threatening to escape the bold and powerful and proud man’s blue eyes. He could not bear to look at the deep cuts that seeped a dark-blue blood, the meaning of the word both a mocking and a condemnation. A damnation. A declaration, an accusation, a scornful phrase that made Thor feel as if he had been cut deeply, too.

“Thor,” Widow repeated, more forcefully this time, but not unkindly, “What does it say?”

“It means...” the Golden God began, voice hoarse and filled with bitter emotion. His hesitation was evident, and as he spoke, the word seemed to pain him, to wound him, and was spoken in a cold whisper that rivaled a Frost Giant’s vows for revenge. He turned to his brother, bending over him and stroking his sweat-soaked face lightly with his thumb. Remorse, guilt, and regret made Thor feel sick inside, although he was guilty of nothing concerning his brother’s current, battered condition. “The word translates to...”

“Mistake,” answered a voice. Thor, Black Widow, and Hawkeye all spun around to see the famous Doctor Stephen Strange enter the room, cape trailing behind him as an aura of mystery and prominence followed. Bruce Banner was behind him, a look of solemnity marring his usually soft, kind features. “ _'Mistaka,’_ to be precise. It’s one of the many words that the English language has adopted from ancient cultures.”

Thor stared at the unfamiliar man. “Yes,” he began, wary and untrusting, “How did you come by this knowledge, friend?”

Doctor Strange looked Thor Odinson over. He had heard many a tale of the Norse God, but had not met the man in the flesh until now. Thor certainly lived up to his reputation, standing tall at a height of six feet, six inches and built powerfully, his muscles defined and large. The legend radiated an aura of purity and light, of honor and dignity. 

“I know many things that mankind does not know, Thor Odinson,” Strange replied. “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, and doctor Banner requested my assistance.” He continued, “I took the liberty to examine your brother’s body from a separate location so that I would not interfere with your tasks. I must admit, however, I did not recognize the meaning of the runes at first. Or rather, I did not want to believe their meaning.”

Grimacing, Thor just turned back to Loki, replying to Strange’s ominous words with his back turned to the man. “A friend of doctor Banner is a friend of mine,” he finally said, flatly. “Can you help him, doctor? Can you help us?”

“Yes,” Strange replied firmly. “However... there is something you should know before I attend, concerning the nature of Loki Laufeyson’s wounds.” “Speak, then!” Thor said, losing his patience. The more they spoke, the less time his brother had to heal. “And do not soften your words. The truth, friend.”

“Fair enough,” the doctor replied, “These injuries... are strange, and do not appear to be done by a second party. They are self-inflicted wounds. I believe your brother, Loki, aimed to end his own life before seeking your company.”


	2. Unequal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for chapter number two! c: Thank you so much to all those who took the time to read this, and for those who left kudos and comments! I really appreciate the feedback, as it not only helps my writing, but keeps me motivated!

The only thing more terrifying than dying is waking after welcoming, ushering in an early death. Death is final. There is no pain, nor is there any bliss. There are no more burdens to bear, and all the same, there are no gifts of kindness, love, and freedom to be held onto. And when someone dies, they become equal with their fellow departed. Race, gender, age, class, occupation, species, appearance... such worldly and societal constraints are broken. These, and more than these reasons, factored into Loki Laufeyson’s attempted suicide. The moment he had courted the idea, it festered and grew. It occupied his mind like a cancer. It wafted into his dreams, greeting him like an old friend. It followed him throughout the day, pointing out items and feeding him with ideas that could aid him in his quest for death. They were means to escape. A method to the Jötunn prince’s madness that solved the tortuous enigma of whom, of _what_ he really was, of what he should be. _Equal._

\-----

Loki awoke just three days after he had slipped into unconsciousness. During those three days, Doctor Stephen Strange had literally worked his magic, healing and repairing his patient unlike any ordinary man could. The only thing that posed a challenge was deciding how best he could go about the daunting task of closing the large gorge in Loki’s chest, from which he had tried to rip out his own heart. More precisely, the road block lay in the icy flesh that surrounded the wound that was so cold to the touch, it burned.

That was when Thor betrayed his dying brother’s trust and revealed Loki’s true lineage to the doctor. With that information, Strange concluded that the remote transformation had either been triggered as a defense mechanism or simply a fault in Loki’s power to channel the Aesir skin when his heart and mind had been compromised. Whatever the cause, when the wound began to heal, the Jötunn blue faded to the milky-pale pallor that the God of Mischief wore at all times. Stephen Strange had been more fascinated than concerned by the change, in truth, but he had given his word to Thor that no research would be conducted. 

Thor couldn’t imagine how much more pain his brother would be in if he had learned that he had been exploited in his most vulnerable hours, experimented on like the alien life form he technically was by Earth’s standards. Thor also couldn’t imagine how livid Loki would be when he found out that Thor had told this stranger of his Jötunn blood, even if it meant the preservation of his life.

_Blood._

\-----

The blood curdling, agonized scream rang through the entirety of the Avengers Tower, swallowing all calmness and ease with its terrible sound of sheer, raw terror. But it was not a cry of fear. It was not shrill, nor hysterical like a newborn babe’s or frightened maiden’s, but deep and guttural and weighted with the heaviness of despair and reality. As the Avengers battle-readied themselves, thinking that some banshee or siren or fearsome animal was attacking their abode, the scream tapered out into a low, mournful howl. It had been such a peaceful, serene night, quiet and quaint and comfortable as the uncanny group of superheroes slumbered soundly. But the present could not have been more opposite; curses and shouts were heard as each team member hurried to dress and arm themselves in the darkness of night.

Expectedly, Black Widow and Hawkeye were the first to convene in the common room. Captain America came next, still in his pajamas, but imposing nonetheless with his shield by his side. Tony came after, looking not in the least bit tired despite the fact that his insomnia had led him to his workshop to whittle away the late hours. He only had his thrusters on, but all who had fought him as such knew how formidable the famous man was with just those. Finally, Bruce Banner shuffled in with bed-ruffled hair and an extremely worried expression. 

“JARVIS,” Tony addressed his A.I., “Status report, pronto.”

“It appears that your new house-guest is awake now, sir,” JARVIS answered in that iconically British and sarcastic tone of his.

“Loki?” Clint exclaimed, somewhat surprised. “Jesus! You take that psycho in and he repays us with _the_ rudest awakening. I mean––”

But the archer was cut off when a boom of thunder drowned out his words, so loud and sudden that it even made the oh-so-calm-and-collected Natasha Romanoff jump. A sudden storm brewed, angry and foreboding and vengeful. A blinding flash of lightning bore into the room, returning Thor from his previous location in the great halls of Asgard, where he had sought his father’s council after Steve Rogers had finally convinced him that he could not help Loki, here in the Tower. 

Steve and Natasha took Thor’s entrance as a cue to run to Loki’s room to find out what exactly had happened, but their Asgardian comrade bellowed a command that halted the two.

“Stop!” Thor boomed, voice as loud as the thunder that had foreshadowed his arrival. “Leave my brother be. We cannot aid him, friends. Our presence would only be unwelcome and met with more hysteria. Please, do not go to him in this hour.”

The pair hesitated, but eventually abandoned their original plan, Bruce guffawed at Thor’s sudden rage, and Tony wondered if it was too late to have another drink. Clint would have none of it.

“So, what? We’re supposed to just stand around and let the guy scream?” the arched demanded. “I don’t know about you Norse people, but we ‘Midgardians’ require sleep.”

At first, Thor looked like he was going to knock Clint’s teeth out. But instead, he forced himself to breathe calmly and steadily, tempering his anger and regaining his composure before replying. 

“Yes, my friend. We are to do nothing,” Thor answered solemnly. “Do not forget the nature of my brother’s affliction. Loki...” he hesitated, uneasy in his words, “It has been made known by Stephen Strange that Loki’s intentions were to take his own life. For what reasons, I do not know. But I do know this: if I had sought death so desperately and with such voracity, only to find my harsh efforts had been in vain, I, too, would be screaming.”  
The wailing no longer seemed so terrible as the information sank into the team members’ understanding. Only Thor and Black Widow had known that Loki had attempted suicide, the two having been the only members in Stephen Strange’s presence when he revealed that harrowing truth. And with Thor’s words to silence them, the Avengers let Loki scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for chapter number two! c: Thank you so much to all those who took the time to read this, and for those who left kudos and comments! I really appreciate the feedback, as it not only helps my writing, but keeps me motivated!


	3. Unaware

Eventually, the screams and agonized howling subsided; even a god could only pour out his burdened soul for so long. Upon reflection, Loki couldn’t recall the last time he had unleashed his dark emotions so openly, but it had to have been hundreds and hundreds of years ago. And as time had worn on, each year became yet another span of time that led Loki’s heart and mind to wander on the edge of insanity and brink of madness that had made him their slave. Upon the milky-pale canvas of his skin, he bore his newest shackles in the forms of scars that littered his wrists, shoulder, and near that certain wretched, pulsing organ so many living creatures relied upon. The God of Mischief’s heart was an animal, and so it had been caged behind bars of bones. He had been born an ice giant, and so his face had been fed to a fire in mocking defiance. His captors kept Loki on a tight leash, and they disguised themselves as self-assurance and insight into that which most people, man and god alike, knew of true despair. 

As requested, Stephen Strange had mended Loki’s physical ailments, but even the Sorcerer Supreme himself couldn’t fix a fractured mind. However, as the master magician sat at Loki’s bedside, he vowed to help the young god to pick up the pieces. His hand in the matter grasped deeper than the bindings of the boon he owed to Bruce Banner, now; when Doctor Strange had called upon his magic, a portion of Loki’s own magic had surrendered itself to him in the rawest and most personal of forms. Born of theology, blood, age, and cultivation, the God of Mischief’s power thrummed in Strange’s bones and blood as it fused with his own abilities. It filled him with an unrelenting and overwhelming responsibility, and when Strange had done all he could do to help Loki, he knew that their fate had been chained to one another.

“Does it feel as bad as it looks?” came a hoarse, yet strangely soothing, voice. Loki’s voice, or rather, what was left of it after it had been scorched by the fires of baneful screams. “It looks to me, Stephen Strange, that you took on a big of my burden in your haste to take my life into your own hands.” A sly smile played across his lips, and before the question even had formed on Strange’s, the green-eyed god already had the answer. “Yes, I do know you. Or rather, _of_ you. Here in Midgard, if the whispers are to be believed, you are the most powerful sorcerer on this planet. I suppose I should be honored, but the honor would only be a false courtesy in my part, if we are speaking honestly.”

Doctor Strange met Loki’s eyes with apprehension and chose his words carefully, not wanting to give the trickster ammunition to use against him. “Whispers... tend to favor exaggeration and hyperbole, but I am Doctor Stephen Strange,” he replied truthfully. “And as for the other matter, I did not take anything from you. There was no need; you gave me a measure of your power, whether consciously or unconsciously, so I used it in your favor.”

“I know,” the silver-tongue replied smoothly. “Look into your eyes. The evidence is in them... and quite literally, I might add.” Loki extended his uninjured arm to point a shaky, accusatory finger at his healer. “Green is unbecoming of you, doctor.”

It had taken Strange less than a second to manipulate the matter around him to form a mirror, and as he gazed at his reflection, he knew that the God of Lies had not lied. Bright, emerald-green flecks of color gleamed amongst the dark brown of his irises. Indeed, the unnatural color did not suit the sorcerer. Their presence was like a brand, a testament to what he had involuntarily gained while saving Loki’s life. Strange shook his head and blinked rapidly as if he could dislodge the green from his eyes, and after he had studied them once more, the mirror shattered, and as the broken shards of glass fell, they reverted back to mere particles. Strange suddenly felt violated, as he imagined Loki was feeling.

“Why did you do this to me?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” Loki spat back, sneering. “You used my magic. I suppose green eyes are simply a result of doing so, although I’ve had others under my control, and their eyes took on a feverish blue. Perhaps, it’s just fate giving us a little preview of what is to come.”

“Fate is a fallacy. My part was played by circumstance; I owed Bruce Banner a favor, so when he called upon me, I answered. He figured you didn’t want to die, or that you had changed your mind as you lay dying. Recall that you came to the tower at your own will, Loki Laufeyson,” Strange reminded him flatly.

“‘Laufeyson?’ You dare call me by that...how did you...?” Loki’s mouth twisted downward in a scornful frown. His eyes darkened, and the pinkish scar tissue from the burns on his face seemed to blaze an angry red. “Who spoke that name to you,” the god demanded, “and why? Tell me!”

Stephen Strange was caught by the surprise of the sudden outburst. _‘What brought this on?’_ he wondered, _‘Yes, this is the first time I’ve called him by his surname, but why should that...?’_ The realization made the sorcerer feel so foolish. He had said " _Laufey_ son." " _Laufey_ son," where he should have said " _Odin_ son." Strange was not supposed to know of Loki’s true lineage, let alone the name of his real father. Thor had only disclosed that information under the pretense that it might aid in his brother’s recovery.

“I only...” Strange fumbled for the right words. “Your brother...”

“My _brother?_ ” Loki gave a bark of mad laughter. “Surely now, you must know that we are not true brothers. Our kinship is a lie, fed to me from birth like milk from a mother’s breast! Thor is nothing more to me than––”

“Thor told me because he values your life more than you do!” Doctor Strange cut him off. “Blood brother or not, he thinks of you as one. He is the reason why you are still alive, not I. Without the knowledge Thor gave me, my magic would have been useless to your cause; my power only extends to what I know.”

Loki hadn’t expected the sudden backlash, nor had he expected the truth to sting so badly that it made the pain of his burns seem but a soft kiss of hot wind. That is why he favored lies; they rolled cooly from his silver tongue and protected him from harm. They wrapped him in a security blanket that kept harsh realities at bay. But in this moment, Loki was vulnerable, and his silver tongue had turned to lead. “I..” he began, “you...” he continued, “but Thor...” he stopped.

Doctor Strange stood quietly, and from Loki’s perspective, the man loomed over him like a figure of conscience. Green-flecked eyes scrutinized him, but not unkindly. Sighing, the sorcerer turned and exited the room, crimson cape billowing against an invisible gust.

_‘I am not Thor’s brother,’_ Loki told himself silently, and madness and insanity urged him on. _'I am not Odin’s son! I am Laufey’s son... no, no! I am...’_ the green-eyed god felt tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. _’It is as Odin said. My birthright is to die.’_ The tears began to fall, and Loki couldn’t find the conviction to fight them. _’No... even that is not true. It is just another lie. I awoke! I am breathing, not bleeding! My heart still beats within its cage, for I could not free it. How could I ever have hoped to free myself from this wretched immortality?’_

The poison thoughts intermingled with despair as Loki began searching frantically for something––anything––even a petty Midgardian tool to help him finish what he had started, only to be cruelly denied. But everything within his reach was no use to him; the chair that Doctor Strange had sat in was too heavy to lift, the unused pitcher of water that sat on a small desk-table beside him was plastic, and the god knew that he didn’t have the capacity to use his magic. Oh, how he envied the ease in which Strange had created that mirror, and oh, how he longed for one of those long shards of glass. 

But his longings were interrupted when the door to his room opened and Thor walked in, magnificent and beloved and proud. He had one of those great big smiles on his face that Loki had tried to emulate as a child, but had never mastered. Thor’s smiles were genuine, his were not. The Golden God’s sky-blue eyes shone with relief and a gratitude. 

“Brother!” Thor said in greeting, and Loki’s heart broke. 

“Brother,” Loki whispered, the word a damnation. 


	4. Blinded

Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, and Stephen strange sat at a large, round cherry-oak table like the knights of Camelot. Behind them stood towering shelves of books that stood watch the occupants to see if _they_ had any useful knowledge. But compared to the miles and miles of words the tomes boasted, only two men that were present could measure up. Their master, Doctor Stephen Strange, had read every single one of them. Their numbers were in the hundreds, but none contained superfluous information. They were not decor; they were the true masters of the mysterious house that now played host to five Avengers, sans Thor, who had stayed behind to tend to Loki. The second man was a small one, but nothing was small about his accomplishments. Simply known as “Wong,” Stephen Strange’s manservant who had served Strange’s great teacher, The Ancient One, held a similar position at the new Sorcerer Supreme’s side. Before, Wong had been a monk. Now, he held the same claim as a knight, if not higher. Often, Strange found himself asking whom was serving whom, as he did now, as Wong snaked between bookshelves and the house’s guests and he distributed hot herbal tea for all. 

The purpose of moving their meeting from Avengers Tower to Stephen Strange’s personal abode was simple: the farther away from Loki, the safer their secrets were. Doctor Strange had no fondness for the extreme extend to which the tower was monitored, either, and preferred memory to be the only scribe as they discussed the delicate matte ne waited for an answer. 

Tony eyed regarded him with suspicion; he had never been a fan of magic, especially because it came in high doses whenever Loki decided to try have another whack at enslaving all of humanity. That, and there was hardly any data on the doctor––not even from S.H.I.E.L.D. Most information about the mysterious man took the form of unfounded discussions on occult online chat boards and low-quality photos that had undoubtedly been taken by some lucky teenager. From the scant evidence Tony had found, Doctor Stephen Strange might as well have been Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. That bugged Tony. That really, really bugged him; anyone who could avoid the documentation of this day and age’s media had to be hiding something dark and nasty. Hell, photos of notorious villains and glorified superheroes alike flooded the online presses every hour, from blurry images of Doctor Doom and his Doombots, to Professor Charles Xavier attending some philanthropic mutants-rights conference, to the Internet’s most tweeted hashtag, #selfieswithsupers, which mostly consisted of people happening to be in the right place and the right time to be in the same photograph with Spider-Man. But of Strange? Only baseless rumors, outrageous claims, and growing doubts, and Tony’s doubts were amongst the greatest. 

“I am not a unicorn, Mr. Stark,” Strange said suddenly, opening one green-flecked eye and looking directly at the inventor, “but even if I were, it is often considered impolite to stare.” 

Tony gaped as Clint chuckled. “Damn, I think I’m beginning to like this guy!” Natasha promptly elbowed him again, this time a little harder. “Ow! I’m just calling it as I see it.”

Steve Rogers coughed loudly and sent the archer a warning glance. In truth, Clint Barton didn’t deserve these respites, but everyone’s nerves were short, and patience ran even shorter. A bird began chirping outside the lone window in the room, a behemoth collage of stained glass that filtered the day’s new light through colored panes.

“See?” Clint chimed, “At least _someone_ agrees with me.” Natasha sighed deeply and watched Wong slip through a door she that had failed to notice. She, too, did not feel welcomed in this place of mysticism where logic and reason held no power. 

“Look, Doctor Strange...” Natasha began.

“Stephen, please,” Strange insisted. “We need not stand on ceremony whilst in my home.”

“Okay... Stephen, then,” Widow noted, but felt uncomfortable nonetheless to call the unfamiliar sorcerer by his first name. “We’re in the dark, here. What can you tell us about Loki?”

Strange finally opened both eyes but kept his arms folded, as if to guard the knowledge he had obtained, and exhaled deeply before draining his entire cup of hot tea. Wong appeared suddenly and silently, filled it again, and disappeared. “It is as Thor told you; Loki’s wounds were, indeed, done by his own hand. After significant blood loss, he remained incapacitated for three days, during which I managed to heal him well enough.” He took another drink from his cup, then brought his hands and fingers into a steeple, pausing to see if anyone had noticed the change in the color of his eyes. But if they had, no one mentioned it, so he continued. “Why he chose to come to your tower in his final hours, I do not know. It is certainly odd that he did so, considering the fact he had attempted suicide. I imagine that when Thor joins us, we will know more... or perhaps less, depending on what Loki does or does not choose to say.”

“Hold up,” Tony interjected. “If you’ve healed him and he’s all fine and dandy like you say, why is he still in our tower?” 

“Why, indeed,” Strange agreed implacably. “But you are asking the wrong person. Turn to your colleagues, Stark, and ask these questions as well: Why did you initially grant Loki your hospitality? Why have you not sent him away? Surely, even the Avengers can resist a wounded dog, and even more so when the dog has bit the hand that fed it time and time again.” 

This made the Avengers more uneasy; not only had they been accused of negligence, but they had been _rightfully_ accused of negligence, the verdict inarguably guilty. Everyone knew it. Most members had been busy during Loki’s stay, as the heroes most often were, either being called away on solo and group missions, personal matters, or an itch to develop the world’s most powerful and fastidiously programmed neutron bomb that would emit no radiation. On the third day, Nick Fury summoned the team to attend on of his fantastically boring meetings that, as the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., he was forced to hold even though he didn’t want to be there, either. It was practically a given that he knew of the Avengers’ havoc-wreaking guest, but Fury didn’t bring the matter to the table. Dutiful as ever, Captain America had tried to discuss it with the director in private, but to no avail; with a dramatic swish of his long black trench coat, Fury was gone from sight.

Presently, the super soldier cursed himself for not being more persistent. How could all six members fail to ask the obvious? The Avengers weren’t called “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” for nothing, so why hadn’t they thought to question “Earth’s Mightiest Menace’s” sudden and surprisingly non-genocidal appearance? ‘ _Did we really overlook it because we felt bad for the guy?_ ’ Steve asked himself, ‘ _Yes, he’s a murderous lunatic with a literal god complex, but... he had tried to kill himself. Loki, the guy with an ego the size of Russia. Loki, whose ambition had led him to try and lay waste on Earth innumerable times despite being beaten back every single time. This guy loves himself more than Hawkeye loves his precious arrows, for God’s sake!_ ’

Resolved, Steve sat up and cleared his throat authoritatively. “Alright, I admit we’ve been careless for the past few days. But so far, nothing has happened. Why wait three days to launch a surprise attack?” He sighed, frustration threatening to stage a takeover of its own. “Are you sure––absolutely positive––that Loki tried to kill himself? Can you give us a one-hundred percent certainty?”

“This wouldn’t be the first time Loki feigned weakness to gain the upper hand,” Natasha added. 

“Yes, Bruce informed me of that when he asked me to come. And yes, I can give you a one-hundred percent certainty that it was his own doing. Moreover, I can give you something better.” 

Steve looked at Strange dubiously. “Better? What, then?”

“My word,” the sorcerer replied in a very annoyingly nonchalant manner. Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but Doctor Strange paid no heed to the insult. “There is no mistake that his wounds are very real, and the cause is certain. If Loki had done this to himself as a ruse, he has gone to extravagant lengths to fool us all.” 

The Avengers still had their doubts, and rightfully so, but Strange had none. He had sensed and felt the despair and desperation of Loki’s actions as if they were his own. He had absorbed part of Loki’s powers, and in turn, experience the darkness that fueled them. Both sorcerers knew that no magic could erase that harrowing word, “MISTAKE,” and keep it from scarring; that part of him had been bound by an even stronger magic, blood magic, created from the Jötunn skin that had protested the destruction. No person, god or man, would want to live with that self-proclaimed damnation... ‘ _Right? Or did Loki not care if someone saw what he had carved into his own chest? Could he be seeking pity, perhaps? Or maybe, he had done it to acknowledge and embrace what he and others thought of him so that it might become a strength, and not a weakness?_ ’ The unwanted questions began to bombard Strange, and he knew it.’ _No! I cannot begin to doubt myself. The truth is plain._ ’

“The truth is pain,” the Sorcerer Supreme announced with conviction. “Loki is the God of Lies and Mischief, but even he cannot hide such obvious truths.”

That seemed to satisfy some of the Avengers. Some. 

Hawkeye huffed loudly in disdain. “I’m sorry, man, but I’ve got to be blunt with you: do you really know who we’re dealing with here? No offense, but you haven’t fought him a bazillion times like we have. You weren’t there when he first tried to raze Manhattan with his army of alien groupies, and you weren’t there when he trolled us with weird shit like turning entire streets into ice cream and making the sky change colors. Hell, we got the rare privilege to meet his _children_ when de decided to give them a tour of the planet!” The memory still made the archer shudder. As if Loki’s mere existence wasn’t bizarre enough, he had given birth to an eight-legged horse, a giant serpent, a fearsome wolf, and the queen of Hel. 

“Clint––” Natasha began.

Hawkeye ignored her. “Do you know that he is _literally_ a god? People used to worship him and the rest of the Norse pantheon. Thor, too. Some still do. And Loki’s so bat-shit crazy, he killed one of his brothers because he was prettier than Loki was. With _mistletoe._ Thor confirmed that one for me, and it’s not even one of the wildest stories.”

“Clint––” Steve warned.

Hawkeye ignored him; he was tired of not being taken seriously, and this high-and-mighty Strange guy didn’t seem to be taking the gravity of the situation seriously enough. “I get that you and Loki are amazing magicians. Even Tony can’t deny that, and he hates magic.”

“Clint––” Tony growled. 

Hawkeye ignored him. Tony’s pride wasn’t more important than the point he was truing to get across not only to Strange, but to everyone in the room. “What makes you a Loki expert?” Hawkeye continued, “What did Banner do for you that made you owe him a favor like playing nurse for a psychopath?” 

“Clint––” Bruce groaned.

Hawkeye ignored him, ignored the green that was starting to creep into Bruce’s eyes. If he hulked out, more to the man. Strange could use some redecorating anyway. The archer stood and pointed an accusatory finger at his host, not unlike Loki had just a few hours ago. “Loki hijack your brain and take it for joyride, did he? Did he empty it out and fill it up with whatever he pleased?” Seething, Hawkeye looked as if he were going to jump the doctor at any moment, but words took precedence in this moment. “I’m fucking tired of hearing you yap on about what Loki is and how his mind works when you don’t know jack shit about him!” 

“CLINT!” Natasha yelled, standing to face her fellow master assassin with an icy-cold glare. “Calm down, or leave. Doctor Strange is just trying to help. You’re not.”

Hawkeye turned to face her and was about to fire back when, 

“Clint,” Stephen Strange addressed his accuser, voice calm and steady like still water. The sorcerer turned to meet the eyes of every Avenger. He met their gazes one by one, waiting for them to register the emerald-green colour that had nearly eclipsed his naturally chestnut-brown irises. Hawkeye’s were last to meet his, and when they did, the archer found no more words to use as ammunition. ‘ _Never underestimate the power to silence someone with awe,_ ’ the practicer of magics reflected as he took his seat again, and again he folded his arms and closed his eyes. “...is right,” he finished, as if nothing had taken place between his words. “All of you know Loki better than I do, especially Mr. Barton. I do not claim to be a Loki ‘expert.’ However, none of you have had the singular experience of meeting Loki when he unwillingly clung to life. None of you, thankfully, have been soaked in his blood, nor have any of you realized that Loki’s heart is the same as ours, and like ourselves, he can be killed. Sure, Asgardians tend to live longer than humans and are considerably harder to kill, but as we’ve all born witness to, even gods can bleed.”

Strange let the words hang, suspended, for a time. He wanted them to register in his guests’ minds and sink into their souls, reach their complete understanding. Wong reappeared to fill his master’s cup, but no-one saw him this time; they were too caught in the web of thoughts that the sorcerer had spun. 

Satisfied with the elapse in time, their host left the Avengers with a challenge. 

“Look me in the eyes, my friends, and tell me that fact isn’t reassuring. Tell me you haven’t wished Loki dead in the time you’ve come to know him. Lie to me and say you’re grateful that I saved his life. Bruce,” Strange paused for a moment’s hesitation, “lie to me, my dear friend, and tell me that you believe your favor has been well-spent. All of you, look to your comrades and ask yourselves not why you haven’t killed Loki, but why Loki did not kill himself, and why he hasn’t killed you, instead. Then, and only then, your eyes will be opened.”

Eyes opened, Doctor Strange gave a slight nod to Wong, who promptly dispersed the illusion that he and his master had created, and the Avengers found themselves back in their tower, completely unaware that they had never left it. And above all, they were completely unaware of the raven-haired, green-eyed god that had listened in on the behest of Doctor Strange himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting somewhere now, aren't we? C; Weekly updates, if not bi-weekly updates, from now on. Thanks again to all those who've left kudos and comments, and everyone who's taken the time to read this! Your support keeps me motivated, which keeps me writing! The next chapter will cover what has happened on Thor and Loki's end during this meeting!


	5. Misled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the hold-up! This pesky thing called "real life" has been acting up lately, but you have my word that regular updates will continue from now on!

Half of Loki’s once-beautiful, smooth face had been reduced to ruins, dried and cracked like the most desiccated patches of earth’s deserts. In place of the standard pinkish-red hue that most burns took on as they healed, these had an icy blue tinge that made the salvaged skin appear ghostly. His bright, shiny, and piercing emerald colored eyes had dulled to a pale green, clouded and listless in his sickness. Those haunted eyes scanned the bandages on his wrists as he turned them over and flexed his fingers, but they were still so numb that Loki felt nothing; nonetheless, he cautiously moved one of his hands to gingerly slide over the raised skin of his scar, his own doing. “Mistaka,” read the declaration he had carved. “Mistake.”

Thor looked on with eyes that contained all the sorrow in the world, the forced joy finally giving way to his true emotions. Sadness did not suit the naturally jolly god, but he was susceptible to negative emotions like everyone else. Pity, anger, and relief flooded Thor’s blood, turning it hot and cold at the same time. Thor pitied Loki for his unending self-destruction, was angry at Loki and all the Nine Realms that such a visionary and gifted individual had experienced so much despair, was relieved that his brother had survived that loneliness, spite, helplessness, and self-loathing that death had promised to overcome.

Loki had dreaded this impending encounter from the moment he was conscious enough to realize that he’d have to endure it. Only Doctor Strange had sat by Loki’s side, and the man had spoken only a few words prior to their heated conversation. Now, he was well enough to face his non-brother. He could not give the excuse for being too feeble or sick or not cognizant enough to hold a sensible conversation. The prospect seemed worse than living. More than anything, Loki wanted to shrink away and cloak himself in darkness if death would not favor him. What could he possibly say to Thor? What could Thor possibly say to Loki? The green-eyed god played the possibilities in his mind. 

_‘Loki, are you okay?’ ‘Loki, I am sorry?’ ‘Loki, what madness has seized you this time?’ ‘Thor, go away?’ ‘Thor, I can explain?’ ‘Thor, I hate you?’_

Loki had not remembered what he had last said to Thor, before succumbing to the embrace of death. He was not even sure why he had come to the Avengers Tower. The God of Mischief had always imagined slinking off to some remote corner of the universe to die alone and in peace, just as cats did when sensing the end. So why, of all places, did he teleport to the heart of his enemies’ dwelling place?

No words came to either deity’s lips as the Golden God approached the God of Lies with extreme caution, as if the latter were a coiled, cornered viper ready to strike. In all truth, Loki would have been if every muscle in his body did not howl in protest when he moved them. Pretending to take a sudden interest in his bedsheets, Loki allowed Thor sit in the chair that Stephen Strange had occupied. It was only when two warm, large hands clasped one of Loki’s cold and clammy ones that the wounded deity allowed himself to look at his non-brother. Instinct screamed at him to recoil from the touch and spit insults in backlash, but even the frost giant’s heart wasn’t that cold.

The brothers––not in blood, but in bond––shared a stretch of silence as Loki rested his other hand on Thor’s and closed his eyes, unable to look at him any longer. Then, he heard something that he hadn’t heard in ages, even centuries: the soft, forlorn, desperate sobs that Thor could no longer stifle. The younger god stared in surprise, at first unable to believe what he was witnessing. The Mighty Thor, reduced to tears? As Loki processed the situation, Thor bowed his head and touched his forehead with their tangled fingers. Warm tears rolled down their flesh, and feeling began to return to Loki’s hands. Unclasping one, Loki ran his fingers through Thor’s gorgeous, golden locks and began to weep, too. Both men felt so foolish and embarrassed at their untamable grief, but they drew comfort from the fact that the other was feeling the same way. Finally, Thor lifted his head and wiped away both his and Loki’s tears. 

“Never doubt that I love you, Loki,” Thor whispered softly.

“I love you too, brother.”

\-----

Captain America was the first to realize what had happened. As he took inventory of their surroundings, he saw, to his relief, that nothing seemed to have been tampered with while the Avengers were “away.” A tug of betrayal and anger led the super soldier to confront Stephen Strange with an uncanny fury in his eyes.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he demanded. “You tricked us! Why?”

Doctor Strange replied in cool and calm tones as ever. “I simply wanted to gauge your recognition of deceit to see how capable you were of dealing with a similar situation from your house guest if it should come to that.”

Steve clenched his fists as Tony Stark began to protest, Natasha rolled her eyes, and Clint looked ready to throw himself at Strange and wring the sorcerer’s neck. Bruce simply took a few deep breaths before cutting everyone off from the impending riot that was sure to ensue. 

“Stephen?” he began, “I would like to talk to you in private, please.” 

And before everyone had the chance to voice their opinion on the matter, Stephen Strange had glided from the room with a dramatic swish of his crimson cloak as he exited with his fellow doctor. 

Bruce Banner led the mysterious man through a series of corridors before reaching his destination: the medical wing of the Tower. He heard a chuckle from Strange, but ignored it as the two men entered one of the rooms and closed the door behind them. 

“Do you think me ill, Doctor Banner?” Stephen asked with a wry smile. “Worried that Loki’s madness has taken hold of my wits?”

“No,” Bruce replied in good humor, “I’d just feel better if you’d let me give you a medical examination, not a psychological one. Besides, I think your actions were quite brilliant, if not misguided.”

“Fair enough,” Strange replied, and took a seat as Banner gathered a few medical instruments and began his work. 

First, he shone a bright light in each of Doctor Strange’s newly green eyes and studied the reactions. The pupils retracted as was normal, and Bruce could find no other abnormalities besides the difference in color. Next, he used a stethoscope to check Strange’s heart and lungs, then carried out a blood pressure and reflex test before finishing off by taking his temperature. Part of Bruce felt a little awkward in doing so, seeing that Stephen Strange had been a neurosurgeon before completely devoting his like the pursuit of sorcery and all it had to offer. The Sorcerer Supreme could have very well done the examination himself, but allowed his friend to do it in his place if for nothing but to put Bruce at ease. 

“Well, everything seems to be in working order,” he concluded. “But I still don’t know why your eyes turned green. It’s definitely not gamma radiation, though.”

Strange smiled at that. “I should hope not; if Loki can harness radiation, we are in more trouble than we think.” 

“‘We?’” Bruce repeated, a look of trepidation evident on his weary features. “Does this mean you’re going to be our newest house guest? While I appreciate what you’ve done so far, you don’t have to stay. I think I’ve maxed-out that favor.”

“And while I appreciate your courtesy, Doctor Banner,” Strange replied, “you don’t owe me any. It is true that the debt has been paid, but I have a professional and a personal stake of my own, now.”

Bruce nodded. “I have a feeling this is about more that just eye color. Any chance you’re going to tell me more? At the very least, you could tell me what caused your eyes to turn green. I know that you know what it is, and I know it’s Loki’s work.”

“How did you...?”

“C’mon, Doctor; I’m angry, not blind, and there’s only two people I know who have the power to effectively mess with you––you, and Loki,” Bruce offered. “At least tell me if you’ve been cursed or jinxed or whatever it is that you sorcerers do to get back at each other.”

Strange sighed, a look of doubt clouding his features. “Would that I could, Doctor Banner, would that I could... But even I don’t know what it means. Loki said I should consider it a gift.”

“Hmm... sounds like Loki is being as cryptic as you are. Maybe you should get together for lunch and exchange ominous metaphors and tools of your trade after all this is done,” Bruce smiled. “Perhaps teach each other how to get the most out of your powers. If Loki weren’t, well... Loki, you’d make a great team.”

“We would,” Doctor Strange agreed, a little too quickly and seriously for Bruce’s liking. “Indeed... we would.”


	6. Update ( Not Actually a Chapter )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are any of those interested in a continuation of this? I'd like to pick it back up, but it's hard to find inspiration. ;~;

SEE ABOVE, ALL FEEDBACK WELCOME


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